future, without my consent.”
A pause.
Then a quiet admission.
“Yes.”
I waited for an apology.
It never came.
Instead, he said, “Your mother is devastated. Half the family isn’t coming. Your brother just left the house furious. Is this what you wanted?”
I looked around my crowded apartment.
People laughing.
Glasses clinking.
Children playing with wrapping paper on the floor.
It was messy, loud, and real.
“I wanted the truth,” I said. “Whatever comes with it is just consequence.”
“You’ve humiliated her,” he said. “She’s sitting at a table
